


Heartache By The Number Part 2

by TheThirdCharles



Series: Fallout: New Vegas- Heartache By The Number [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 05:49:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10530198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheThirdCharles/pseuds/TheThirdCharles
Summary: Visit Freeside! Bars with stationary stools, insistent laser store bouncers, readily climbable Mormon architecture, exposition in the form of rumors? We've got it all! Viva Las Vegas!





	

CASS stands with COURIER in front of a large metal gate.

COURIER  
You don’t have to do this, you know.

CASS  
No. I do. I owe them this much.

A profile shot of the two of them.

COURIER  
You’re sure now, Cass?

CASS  
Just wish I didn’t have to do this sober...

Cass reaches for her flask. Courier scolds her and she puts her arm back down.

COURIER  
Cass.

CASS  
Oh, fine. Fucking nag. I guess now’s as good a time as any.

The two of them walk forward through a ten foot tall metal archway to what is revealed to be the Crimson Caravan Company’s enclosure, a collection of beaten wooden buildings, a trading shanty or two, and a brahmin enclosure surrounded by a patchwork of cement and sheets of metal topped with flowing curls of barbed wire. CARAVANEERS, busy men and women in casual clothes and frontier attire and small pistols and simple shotguns if anything by way of weaponry, and CARAVAN GUARDS, tough looking men in leather armor and more advanced shotguns and lower caliber submachine guns, walk around. NCR TROOPERS, in their typical uniform and service rifles, are scattered about standing guard or socializing with the Caravaneers. 

Cass and Courier keep walking deeper into the camp.

CASS  
I think this might have been a mistake. 

COURIER  
Keep cool. These people are the same kind as those you’d find in the outpost. 

Close-up on Cass, bitter expression on her face. Residents of the camp walk across, behind her head in the panel.

CASS  
Try to look at this from my perspective. To me, these aren’t the  
buddy-buddy grunts who’d buy you a drink or take a bullet for you. 

Cass glares at Courier, lightly elbowing him in the ribs. Courier smirks at her comment.

CASS  
They’re the competition that’s been begging me to put out a deal even after all the stuff  
I’d finally earned and now they’ve finally got me bent over thanks to a combination of  
everything I own dying and some smooth talking fucker stepping in to strip it all away.

COURIER  
I have a name, you know. Well... a title... Point taken.

Cass is still turned towards the Courier when Ringo’s voice catches her attention.

CASS  
But you get why I’m on edge? These are some cold sons of bitches we’re dealing with. 

RINGO  
Hot damn! Never thought I’d see you again!

RINGO, a caravaneer in a button down shirt, complete with bow tie, messenger bag, and run-down overalls, runs up to Courier, smiling and waving an arm. Courier responds with a wide smile. Cass scoffs at this.

RINGO  
Where have you been up to, friend?

CASS  
You’re fucking kidding me.

COURIER  
Ringo! Wandering, sight-seeing, getting caps where I can, sketching  
molerats in all their gently wrinkled majesty, how have you been?

Ringo stands in front of Courier. Cass is to the side.

RINGO  
Good. More than good, man. I’m out there near every week working up a  
little something special to thank you for what you did back in Goodsprings.

COURIER  
Really, you don’t have to.

Ringo pulls out a pouch of caps and hands it to Courier, who reluctantly accepts it.

RINGO  
Just like you didn’t have to stop the Powder Gangers from dragging  
me off? I don’t think so. I repay my debts. I just hope this covers it.

Ringo chuckles as Courier’s smile fades into seriousness. Cass starts walking away.

COURIER  
Ringo, buddy, this is already more than you need to do, and it’s great to see you  
again, but my associate and I have some business to settle with McLafferty.

RINGO  
Your associate, eh? And here I’d gotten my hopes up she was your girl.

Courier walks away, catching up with Cass. Ringo looks a little disheartened.

CASS  
There’s not a strong enough booze in the wasteland.

They have reached McLafferty’s office, walking up the three steps. Courier opens the door and walks in.

COURIER  
Granted Ringo’s an exception, McLafferty’s essentially like you think,  
but if you play by the rules, I doubt she’ll twist the knife any worse.

Profile of Cass murmuring and walking into the building.

CASS  
Doesn’t make it any easier.

MCLAFFERTY sits at her desk, eyeing over paperwork, not bothering to look at Cass. BODYGUARD leans on the wall behind her, eyeing the doorway.

MCLAFFERTY  
Rose of Sharon Cassidy. We meet at last.

Cass walks in, with a bitter tone.

CASS  
And here I thought you communicated solely through buyout  
contracts. How is that second broker? You know? The one who  
learned how aerodynamic my boot can be heading for his package?

McLafferty returns a cold glare, looking up from her paperwork.

MCLAFFERTY  
Inconsequential. As I’m sure you’ve observed, these days, Crimson  
Caravan Company has been nothing but straight with you. I assume  
your presence here means you’ve agreed to the terms I’ve laid out.

Cass pulls out the contract, walking over to the desk.

CASS  
I have.

MCLAFFERTY  
Then, if you would.

Cass hands her the contract. McLafferty places a sizeable sack of caps and NCR dollars.

MCLAFFERTY  
That would mean this belongs to you. I hope you don’t mind some of it’s in NCR dollars. If  
we’re going to civilize this dustbowl, we can’t hinge our success on goodwill projects alone.

Cass counts her money. She looks up from the bag out, with a little guilt.

CASS  
You should probably know, the Caravan was hit on its way  
to New Vegas. Way I heard it, there’s next to nothing left.

MCLAFFERTY  
Yes. I remember when that came in on the radio. Damn shame.

Cass is confused at this.

CASS  
So NCR laid down five figures to buy my name? 

McLafferty has gone back to her paperwork, giving Cass a particularly nasty brush off.

MCLAFFERTY  
Miss Cassidy, if you don’t mind, one of us still has a caravan to  
manage. If you’d leave me with your apparent companion you  
might just find a moment to reflect on a new way to make a living.

Cass starts to move forward as though to fight. Courier grabs her arm and she relaxes it, realizing her helplessness. Cass leaves, a little broken. McLafferty looks up, with an expression resembling a smile, offering a handshake.

MCLAFFERTY  
As for you, sir, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you. 

Courier doesn’t move from his spot on the wall.

COURIER  
Republic’s a reliable employer, Ms. McLafferty.

McLafferty scowls and motions to her Guard. The Guard throws Courier a pouch of caps, which Courier tucks away.

MCLAFFERTY  
If you’re interested, I might have another job for you. 

COURIER  
Oh? More expansion?

McLafferty rests her chin on the tops of her hands.

MCLAFFERTY  
On the contrary. Cutting some dead weight. There’s a trust fund kid,  
Henry Jamison, hanging around Freeside. His father sends him out to  
Crimson Caravan thinking it’s a soft enough job to let the boy ride out  
the war making easy caps. That isn’t how I operate, and if it weren’t  
for his illustrious father, I’d have him shipped out or beaten into shape. 

Courier raises an eyebrow, getting up from the wall.

COURIER  
You mean whipped him into shape?

McLafferty goes back to paperwork as Courier leaves.

MCLAFFERTY  
I’m familiar with what I said. If you’re in the area, he’s probably  
pissing away his paycheck at the Atomic Wrangler. Make sure he  
sees his time spent milking the Company has come to an end.

COURIER  
I’ll that keep in mind.

Cass stands outside, looking at Courier, in a state of distress. She breaks the eye contact and looks down and to the side, her hand adjusting her hat.

CASS  
So... any thought as to where you’ll go next? 

Courier walks down the steps to get closer to her.

COURIER  
Freeside, I think. Something on your mind?

Cass feels ashamed and is holding back tears.

CASS  
Yeah. I... I want to go see my Caravan. Dead or not, I owe them that much.

Courier pats her on the shoulder, already walking for the exit. 

COURIER  
Then we should head out for it now.

Cass smiles, appreciative.

CASS  
Yeah.

The two of them walk on, amid Crimson Caravan personnel walking about in every direction.

COURIER  
You’re sure you’re ready to see this?

One-shot of Cass, with new resolve.

CASS  
I guess we’ll find out.

One-shot of Cass standing, frozen by the gravity of the situation. For once she’s speechless. Courier stands a few feet behind her, also somber upon seeing all of the destruction. Cassidy Caravans has been unequivocally wiped out. A Cassidy Caravan Guard has been reduced to blackened ash. Another has been murdered with a shotgun to the point he’s unidentifiable, blood splattering much of the site. Jackie’s bandoliers, 10mm pistol, and a dozen expended bullet casings lay next to a still smoldering pile of ash, and the pack brahmin has been shotgunned to death, the contents of its load spilling out onto the road, crushed or shot. Cass is stunned, trying to take this all in. Courier is in the background, hazy and out of focus.

CASS  
When NCR radio called this in, they weren’t kidding.  
There’s fucking nothing left. I should’ve been here with them.

COURIER  
It was an ambush. Even someone like one of us would’ve been easy prey.

Cass is beginning to yell, scolding herself.

CASS  
But they trusted me. You don’t get it. I sat back drinking at the outpost  
getting a trade deal out of Jackson, and told them to head out to finish the run.  
They weren’t experienced enough to try a run on their own, but I let ‘em go. 

Tears are welled up in her eyes. She makes a fist in anger. Courier stands behind her, still hazy.

CASS  
Sure a couple were mercs, but they were still family.  
And now that’s that. It’s down to me. Again.

Courier grabs the side of Cass’ arm, now clearly visible.

COURIER  
That’s still far better than there being nothing left. Live that much fuller for them,  
don’t lose the memories. Unless you give up and keel over, they can’t be truly dead.

Cass turns to Courier. She closes her eyes and starts to show signs of a smile.

CASS  
There is one more thing I’d like to do.

Cass and Courier are at the counter of the Atomic Wrangler bar in Freeside. The bar is a nice enough place with a staircase to the second floor, bar stools screwed into the floor, two fully stocked liquor cabinets behind the enclosed counter, and a decent sized crowd, PATRONS in standard Vegas lower class clothing mingle, laughing and drinking with some of the Wrangler’s irregular PROSTITUTES. Working the bar are the Wrangler’s managers, the GARRETT TWINS, JAMES and FRANCINE, dressed in tan suits and blue ties, cleaning glasses and serving drinks. Next to Cass and Courier sits ORRIS, a black haired bodyguard for hire in scrounged post-apocalyptic metal armor and a dorky tough guy goatee. JAMISON sits at a slot machine next to the bar counter, wearing an expensive pre-war outfit and wasting away his caps, a beer rested on top of the machine.

CASS  
Bull-SHIT geckos can breathe fire!

COURIER  
I- I am not fucking with you! Geckos can breathe  
fire like a flamethrower! I’ve fucking seen it!

CASS  
If you’ve seen that, then I’ve seen two fifty foot tall dudes jerking each other off!

COURIER  
Well, the monument...

Both pause for a moment before laughing hysterically.

JAMES  
Would you mind keeping it down, pal? You’re already drinking for free.

Cass turns to Courier, nearly falling off her bar stool.

CASS  
And here I thought you were just trying to make me feel  
better, but it’s actually true! How the hell did you swing that?

Courier gestures to James.

COURIER  
The Garret twins, that is to say James here and his lovely sister Francine-

Francine snickers, pouring herself a drink.

FRANCINE  
Oh, shut your goddamn mouth.

COURIER  
-oh so lovely, had some rich clients with discerning tastes for their after hours  
companionship. I helped them find some more workers and they set me up.

James points at Courier, losing his patience. Cass watches as Courier calls James’ bluff.

JAMES  
That doesn’t fucking include letting you ramble on loudly like an asshole.

COURIER  
Most difficult to find was the sex-bot, but I’d say that  
one filled James’ vacancy like nothing else quite could.

James lowers his pointed finger, defeated. Courier takes another drink, while Cass glances, chuckling at James.

JAMES  
...just try to keep it down, ok? The Kings won’t be as hospitable.

CASS  
Who?

JAMES  
The ruling faction here. Always butting horns with hotheads like you.

CASS  
Like they can take me.

Cass looks at Courier.

CASS  
So when you’re saying they set you up, you mean like with free drinks?

COURIER  
Yeah.

Cass turns on her stool to face Courier.

CASS  
And a room?

Courier is conflicted about this, worried about what’s going to happen between the two of them.

COURIER  
Yeah...

Jamison yells outside the panel. Cass puts her hand on Courier’s.

JAMISON  
The fuck! Machine ate my fucking caps!

CASS  
Remember when I said there isn’t a booze strong enough?

Cass smiles devilishly.

CASS  
I might’ve spoke too soon...

Cass starts leaning in to kiss him. Courier also leans in a bit too, as Cass keeps getting closer to his lips. Courier pulls away, realizing that his next objective has been eight feet away from him. Cass is surprised by this. 

JAMES  
God damn it, Jamison, it is not! You’re just too drunk to see that you’re awful at this!

COURIER  
Jamison?

Courier walks away with Cass stuck there, just beginning to understand what just happened. Cass puts her arm on the bar, resting her head in frustration. Cass lifts up her head to hear Orris loudly bragging to impress a fairly average looking Prostitute.

ORRIS  
...And then I punched him so hard the laws of physics  
actually broke for a moment to knock the other guy down too!

Cass is visible in the background, listening to Orris’ rambling. The Prostitute is captivated by his story. 

PROSTITUTE  
Wait. The way you way you said, the second guy was five feet away.

Cass gets up, smiling that mischievous smile. Orris flexes to impress the Prostitute, who gasps in delight.

ORRIS  
Yeah, but I’m like an earthquake. Orris is a force of nature!

Cass gets up, walking over to Orris.

CASS  
Is that a fact, Mr. Earthquake?

Courier has walked to Jamison, who turns slightly to see him.

COURIER  
Henry Jamison?

JAMISON  
Yeah? What the hell do you want? 

Jamison sees him and begins cowering before Courier, who is confused at his sudden change.

JAMISON  
Oh, shit! You’re not one of them, are you?

COURIER  
One of who?

Jamison relaxes cautiously, Courier’s arms crossed.

JAMISON  
So you’re not an Omerta? 

COURIER  
You’re talking about the casino family on the strip?

Jamison gives Courier the brush off and turns back to his machine.

JAMISON  
Yeah... why am I saying this! Get the fuck away from me! Can’t you see I’m winning?

COURIER  
Well, I can’t see, as you’re throwing away the Caravan’s money,  
and from the sounds of things, you’re doing pretty badly at this.

Jamison turns back slightly towards Courier. Courier moves next to Jamison, still standing, and puts his hand on the middle of Jamison’s back. 

JAMISON  
Now I get this. You’re another fucking goon McLafferty sent to muscle me out!

COURIER  
No, if I were a goon, I’d have waited until you’ve won a jackpot and thrown you  
through that slot machine you’re so fond of for you to drown in it. Fortunately  
for you, you’re goddamn awful at that machine and I don’t have the patience to wait. 

Courier sits down at the machine next to Jamison’s.

COURIER  
Instead, I could just tip off the Omertas that one of their prime  
debtors is burning through their caps at a slot machine, no less.

Jameson panics and pulls a switchblade from his jacket pocket, trying to slash Courier with it as if it were a sword.

Courier catches Jamison’s hand, stopping his swing with ease.

COURIER  
Bad move, kid. You could get someone hurt with a toothpick like that.

Jamison begs for mercy, speaking lightly out of fear.

JAMISON  
Lemme go! I’ll leave! I-I’ll get out of Crimson  
Caravan and you’ll never hear from me again!

Courier crushes his hand a bit. Jamison drops the switchblade and there’s an audible crack, a finger or two dislocated. Courier releases his hand, and Jamison recoils, nursing his right hand and making threats.

JAMISON  
AAAH! Son of a bitch! My father’s going to-

Courier brings the switchblade to Jamison’s throat, holding it correctly. Jamison cowers at this.

COURIER  
Got to hand it to you, Henry. You know where to get all the best toys.

Jamison gets up and yells at Courier, quickly retreating.

JAMISON  
Fuck this! Fuck Vegas! I’m cutting my losses and going  
back to actual civilization, you... you damn barbarians!

Jamison scurries out of the Wrangler. Courier snaps shut the switchblade shut, getting up from the stool.

COURIER  
I think you’ll find us a little more civilized than you think.

Cass is next to Orris, who has put his arm around her. Orris is talking to two Wastelanders and the Prostitute.

ORRIS  
So there I was: on top of a ravaged car surrounded by a pack of wild  
dogs, a Legion slave-girl in one arm, an orphan in the other. I had my  
back to the wall, so I threw down the child. The child’s body was only  
enough to feed the three of the eight of them, and the pack tore itself apart.

PROSTITUTE  
And the boy?

Orris takes a drink, Cass face-palms, and the onlookers applaud.

ORRIS  
I can’t say for sure, but at the wild dogs’ reaction, I can only  
assume he was delicious. Oh, and then I banged the girl. Perfect Ds.

CASS  
Just charming.

Courier walks up, a little disappointed in Cass’ taste in men right now. Cass blushes, embarrassed. 

COURIER  
Cass.

CASS  
Oh... hey... Did you meet Orris?

COURIER  
I don’t believe I have.

Orris flexes his free arm, muscles partly bulging, and while he is exaggerating, he isn’t a weakling. Cass talks to him, as if he had just mixed up his words.

ORRIS  
Well, you should’ve heard of me at least. Toughest man in Vegas.

CASS  
Way you said that, I’d assume you weren’t accounting for women.

ORRIS  
Oh, please, sweet thing. I mean, your kind’s got  
the legs for it, but you need fists and brains too.

Cass pauses at this, anger not quite catching up with her yet. Orris laughs, not realizing what’s going to happen. Courier sighs, not excited at the idea of another bar-fight.

ORRIS  
Unless you get to channel your period into a blind fury, I think I can rule that out.

COURIER  
Now you’ve done it.

ORRIS  
Done what? Looks to me like I’m in for a pounding tonight.

Cass punches Orris across the face. Orris stumbles back, clutching his injured mouth. He swings back at Cass, who leans back to dodge it. Cass punches him in the gut. There’s a loud noise of metal being hit. Cass’ hand is in a great deal of pain. Orris takes a moment to gloat.

ORRIS  
Metal armor, bitch! You aren’t punching through that!

Cass punches him in the face with her left arm.

CASS  
Good to know.

Orris uppercuts her in the direction of the bar, which Cass falls over.Courier attempts to pick up a stool... only to learn it’s bolted to the floor.

COURIER  
Huh.

Courier runs up to Orris, punching his face. Orris Sparta kicks him away. Courier stumbles, regaining his balance and Orris wobbles, his hands in a clumsy, tired fighting stance. Cass, previously unseen, jumps from the counter, performing an elbow drop on Orris’ head. Orris is unconscious and Courier runs for the door, quickly stepping over Orris, grabbing Cass’ arm and heading for the door. Cass smiles, proud of their victory.

CASS  
Well, I’m like a volcano, fucker!

The two of them laugh as they leave the Wrangler, Cass’ adrenaline is pumping like crazy. Courier is trying to keep up. 

CASS  
Hm... what to do next?

There’s a view from just behind them, showing a gang of three KINGS, the ruling gang of Freeside, dressing like a bunch of Elvis impersonators complete with black pompadours and leather jackets, and the Silver Rush, the Mojave’s premier energy weapons shop set up in an old gambling parlor. Its sign is clearly visible, written in a classic western text, and there is a VAN GRAFF GUARD standing outside in black prewar combat armor and a plasma rifle in his hands. 

CASS  
Ok, I’m gonna fuck up those Kings! You?

COURIER  
I’m buyin’ a laser!

They walk away quickly, Cass in the direction of the Kings and Courier towards the silver rush. The Kings spot Cass. Cass walks and talks cockily and the Kings cat-call.

KING 2  
Well, love me tender!

KING 1  
Hey, there, baby. Are you lonesome tonight?

CASS  
Well, I wouldn’t be hanging around any of your  
boys. Any given King ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog.

Cass continues antagonizing the Kings, who try brushing it off.

KING 2  
Oh, don’t be cruel!

CASS  
All shook up?

The Kings get angry. Cass gets ready to fight.

KING 1  
Listen here, hard headed woman, in these suspicious minds  
of ours, we think you might be aiming to pick a fight.

KING 3  
Don’t.

CASS  
Afraid my fist’ll get stuck on you?

The Kings and Cass charge in to begin to scrap.

KING 2  
It’s now or never!

They’re at each other’s throats, when an extremely stylish leather shoe steps down in the panel, causing them all to pause. THE KING, an Elvis Presley among Elvis Presleys, wearing all black with the exception of a bright gold jacket, was walking with two of his GROUPIES, attractive women dressed in pink, lacey, sexy sleepwear, on his arms, and REX, his cyber-dog, a dog with a glass domed brain case on its head, a half machine body, with only one dog leg remaining, as the other three were replaced by robotic legs, on his leash. The King, father figure of Freeside, gives a disappointed glance to the Kings and Cass.

THE KING  
Wise men say only fools rush in.

The King, his Groupies, and Rex walk away, the King and his Groupies go back to flirting with each other. It’s the single most bizarre thing Cass has seen in her life, and she’s frozen by it. The King Gang Members nod as if to say, “don’t let it happen again” to Cass and run off. Cass, still in shock walks in the direction of the Silver Rush.

CASS  
What the fuck was I drinking?

Courier has walked over to the Silver Rush, and is having trouble with the Van Graff Guard.

VAN GRAFF GUARD  
Sir, I think you’d better come back another time.

Courier tries reasoning with the Van Graff Guard.

COURIER  
Just let me in! I’ve got the caps, ok? It’s a win-win!

VAN GRAFF GUARD  
Company policy, sir. I’m going to need you to leave.

Courier turns to see who just spoke.

COURIER  
I swear I’ll behave, okay? Is my money not good enough for you?

GLORIA  
No, sir. Your word isn’t.

GLORIA VAN GRAFF, a cold woman with pale hair and eyes, wearing a pale blue overcoat, a formal navy skirt, torn blue stockings, and a holstered plasma pistol, steps forward from behind Courier with her entourage, consisting of her brother, JEAN BAPTISTE CUTTING, a noticeably taller man than Courier or anyone yet encountered, carrying a modified tri-beam laser rifle and wearing black combat armor, and four more VAN GRAFF GUARDS, each carrying either a laser or plasma rifle and all wearing black combat armor.

GLORIA  
I’d be more inclined to trust your intentions were you to approach  
this calmly and soberly. As you are now, you’re just as likely to  
vaporize half of the store as to pull off a successful transaction.

Courier turns to see who it is.

COURIER  
And who are you to talk to me like that? 

GLORIA  
Gloria Van Graff, proprietor of the Silver Rush. If you remain  
unconvinced, may I introduce my brother, Jean Baptiste to prove otherwise?

Jean steps forward, towering over Courier, tri-beam laser rifle held by the barrel in his left hand, 

COURIER  
Look, I didn’t mean any trouble.

Jean backhands Courier with his right hand. Courier goes down hard. Courier manages to start getting up. Jean threatens him.

JEAN  
I’m sure you didn’t fuck-head, but if you come around here  
stinking of booze and packing heat like you are now, know that I will. 

COURIER  
You just met me and you’re throwing around your weight. With those  
guns and muscle, how the hell haven’t you made a play for this city?

Gloria draws her plasma pistol.

GLORIA  
Well, well. Look who isn’t as much of a lout as we’d thought. We aren’t like  
the Kings. We are not a bunch of schoolboys running around Freeside as if  
it were a clubhouse. A city like this presents an opportunity unlike the rest  
of the wasteland. It gives one a chance to reestablish something of the old world. 

She admires her pistol, one of the most advanced, not to mention shiniest, weapons in the wasteland.

GLORIA  
The ones with real power in their societies were not those who ran the  
government, but rather those who observed from the shade and profited  
on their own. Power is money, sir, and while the Kings scramble about  
trying to maintain order, we’re here maintaining our claim to Freeside’s cap flow.

Gloria puts her pistol under Courier’s chin.

GLORIA  
At any given moment, we could overthrow them, but where would  
that get us? We’d be forming patrols, tending to local junkies, butting  
heads with NCR. Here we’re raking in the caps and making connections  
with some high profile clients. You tell me who runs this town.

COURIER  
Looks to me like you do. Less liberty than the kings and  
far fewer good intentions than NCR. Should be prosperous.

Gloria smugly moves away her pistol. Jean punches Courier clean across the face. Gloria holsters her pistol as she and her entourage leave the courier, disinterested, and continue to the Silver Rush. Courier is wincing in pain on he ground.

GLORIA  
If you’re ever able to form a worldly view and leave your .44 in the care  
of our security detail, we may be able to do business without your remains  
dusting our inventory. Until then, I wish you a pleasant evening.

Far off in the background of this panel, Cass can be seen waving her arms to get Courier’s attention.

CASS  
Hey, Courier! How’d the laser-thing go? Dispensing beams of face-melty death yet?

COURIER  
Not exactly.

Cass is still shouting, jokingly disappointed, then overexcited.

CASS  
Well, shit! Come on! I saw this awesome building on the way in!

COURIER  
For what? Looting?

Courier tips his hat to the Van Graffs and gets up, running clumsily to catch Cass, already running to the building. Gloria is not amused. Jean is surprised.

CASS  
No, for a raucous square dance. Fuck you, let’s go!

COURIER  
Miss Van Graff. Jean. Cass, wait up!

Jean readies his rifle. The Van Graff Guards begin to do the same. Gloria looks unconcerned, motioning him to put it down.

JEAN  
Cass? The Cassidy girl!

GLORIA  
No, Jean.

Jean complies, calmly disappointed, as do the Guards. Gloria is frustrated at his aggression.

JEAN  
We could fuckin’ finish this thing. Get her in here and-

GLORIA  
The Cassidy girl is none of our concern anymore. Without her caravan, she’s like a rabid  
dog, running around like an angry ball of energy until her rage ends up doing her in.

The original Van Graff Guard at the entryway starts opening the door. Jean looks out to where Cass and Courier left in cautious regret. Gloria has dismissed it, turned towards the door.

JEAN  
She’s a tough one. Might be trouble later on.

The door to the Silver Rush has been opened by the original Van Graff Guard in the doorway. Inside are racks of energy weapons and inactive slot machines with accompanying stools. The color palate is gray and unfriendly, but most importantly, two more armed Van Graff Guards stand in the center of the room with a prisoner, MR. SOREN, stripped to his undershirt and underwear, hands cuffed, mouth gagged, head bruised and bleeding, giving muffled screams for help. Gloria coldly smiles to Jean.

GLORIA  
That’s beside the point. If you’ll remember, we already  
have company this evening. Isn’t that right, Mr. Soren?

MR. SOREN  
NNGH!

GLORIA  
And have you seen the company she keeps? Duo like that, I’m betting  
they’ll likely just fall off a cliff into a swarm of prewar sentry bots.

Cass, Courier, and ED-E, a hovering sci-fi B-movie of a robot, slightly larger than a soccer ball with antennae coming out of its top and sides and an underbelly mounted laser, are outside the Old Mormon Fort, a large, brick fort, in the old west sense of the word, just inside the limits of Freeside. Courier is trying to push up Cass’ foot, Cass’ other leg being on ED-E, off the ground. She’s found a handhold and is beginning to scale the fort. 

CASS  
Goddamn robot! Push me up more!

COURIER  
He’s like fifty pounds, Cass...

CASS  
Alright, I got a grip now, anyway.

Cass has climbed higher, extending her hand to help up Courier, who grabs it and jumps up to grab it and get his own handhold along the wall. ED-E hovers silently up with them.

COURIER  
You do this much?

CASS  
Never before.

COURIER  
Well, I guess it’s better than what I was doing before this.

CASS  
Getting your ass handed to you by the Van Graffs?

They’re climbing higher, beginning to level with the second floor. ED-E continues to go up with them.

COURIER  
You know them?

CASS  
Yeah. Monopolized the energy weapons trade. They even muscled out NCR. Gloria’s  
a grade-A bitch, but from the looks of you, you got to know Jean Baptiste a little better.

COURIER  
Just thought I’d remind you you’re free to shut the hell up any time.

Cass has grasped the top of the building.

CASS  
Got it!

COURIER  
Alright, almost there. 

They’ve made it to the top of the fort, both exhausted. ED-E hovers next to them. Cass points to the moon. The roof is flat and made of bricks.

COURIER  
Why did we just do that?

CASS  
There.

The moon is out and shining prettily over the ghettos of Freeside.

COURIER  
Good call, Cass.

CASS  
See? Pretty, ain’t it?

Courier leans down to see below the building. Cass mostly ignores this, but starts over to see.

COURIER  
Cass?

CASS  
Yeah?

COURIER  
We aren’t allowed to be here, are we?

CASS  
Probably not, but why’s that matter?

They peer over the ledge to see around fifteen FOLLOWERS OF THE APOCALYPSE, young, anarchist doctors with white lab coats over casual shirts and pants, JULIE FARKAS, their mohawked leader, and ARCADE GANNON, an intelligent but pessimistic man with blonde hair and thick glasses, crossing his arms, inside of the fort’s walls looking back at them. Julie shouts up to them.

JULIE  
And what, pray tell, brings you to the roof?

COURIER  
A series of bad decisions.

Julie has her arms crossed, almost aggressive.

JULIE  
Makes sense, Courier, but the Followers can’t have you  
running around up there. And is that ED-E you have?

CASS  
No, it’s a drunken ex-caravaneer.

COURIER  
Cass, she means next to you.

CASS  
Oh. Then yes.

Cass yells back to Julie.

JULIE  
You told us we could borrow ED-E for study, and I  
assumed that would mean we could do so in peace.

CASS  
So you Followers can learn from it, help some  
people, and rub it in the NCR’s expansionist face?

Julie, physically unable to smile, looks earnestly at Cass.

JULIE  
Sounds about right.

Cass slumps clumsily over the edge of the roof.

CASS  
Huh. Well, you’re the most straightforward anarchists I’ve ever met.

JULIE  
It’s something to take pride in, Cass the ex-caravaneer.  
Strange. The way I heard it, there were no survivors.

CASS  
Nope. I’m the one sole survivor of Cassidy Caravans.

Arcade shouts up to them.

ARCADE  
CASSIDY Caravans? Damn it, another one.

COURIER  
Another one?

Cass tips her hat down, recalling the nasty memories.

ARCADE  
Apparently Griffin Wares was hit near Westside, and  
Durable Dunn never checked in his cargo to the Gun Runners.

CASS  
Fuck. It’s dangerous work in an even more dangerous wasteland.

Cass looks up, getting a chill.

ARCADE  
The way I heard this, they didn’t just die. They were  
wiped out to the point there was nothing but ashes.

She looks to Courier, who returns the look.

Courier and Cass are walking tensely to Griffin Wares’ Caravan remains. It’s around daybreak and Cass has her shotgun in her hands. Griffin Wares wreckage has been reduced to wreckage, similar to Cassidy Caravans. There are two piles of neon green radioactive slime in front of a dead pack brahmin. Courier looks at her, concerned. 

CASS  
So it’s true.

COURIER  
What are you thinking?

CASS  
We look for Griffin and Dunn. 

COURIER  
And then?

In a low angle below her, Cass puts her shotgun over her shoulder and Courier stands next to her, checking his revolver.

CASS  
We find who did this and crack open their fucking skulls.


End file.
